Words of Fancy
by Roxas Destati
Summary: Drabble Collection. All pairings written range from what people consider crack to canon, the content ranging from fluff to mature. I will submit something new each time I write a new drabble to appease those awaiting updates. Each chapter is something new
1. Banana

**Words of Fancy**  
>RoxasDestati<p>

**Before we begin, I would like to explain that this is a collection of drabbles. Each drabble is written for a word or phrase submitted to me on Tumblr where I am given the chance to write whatever pairing or situation I associate with that word. There's no real particular order and it's all in good fun. They can range from sweet fluff to the mature sex scenes you all seem to adore seeing me write. I hope you enjoy.**

**Also note, if it turns out to be a pairing you aren't sure of or maybe don't like, give it a chance. You might end up enjoying it.  
><strong>

Banana

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><p>He hated him.<p>

Oh _Moses,_ did he hate him right now.

Of course he thought it was hilarious, he wasn't the one pinned down and being threatened with the one fruit he couldn't fucking _stand_. The redhead was sure that the moment he was free, Kenny was going to die by his own hand and rightfully so even if he did like the way he was-..

Oh fuck he was..

The blond chuckled at him, purposely giving the yellowed fruit nothing short of a tongue bath, dragging the muscle along it lazily now that he'd finished peeling the covering away. Kyle was surely dying at this point, caught between being filled with loathing and embarrassment that he found the display attractive at all. The unmistakable cross between disgust and shameful desire was stuck on his face.

Then he upped it a notch.

Kyle swore his stomach dropped out at the sight of that disgusting fruit disappearing into his mouth so easily before reappearing. He stared at him wide eyed while Kenny chuckled, amused by the flush quickly spreading across his face. The action was repeated, startling the Jewish male who remained caught between an everlasting conflict between stay and go as he glanced away hurriedly. Should he beat the shit out of Kenny? Should he run off in shame? He rarely fell for the blond's antics that should be rated mature with the things he enjoys tormenting people with. Especially Kyle it seemed.

His lips parted, unsure as he finally made to ask him about it, to inquire why only to find another pair pressed against them. He gave a startled noise, a muffled protest before he relaxed just slightly and fell into the awkward rhythm that was kissing. There was a light touch to his face and his lips parted again, compliantly for once, instinct expecting tongue-

and getting banana.

_Oh yes. Kenny was going to die the moment he stopped gagging._

Word request submitted by Anonymous._  
><em>


	2. Unfortunate

Unfortunate

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><p>It was always his luck, always his misfortune to fall into these chaotic situations. He was almost sure there was a target painted on his forehead or a sign on his back tattling on him when he was up to something even slightly mischievous. This sudden situation.. confrontation shouldn't have come as a surprise at all and yet here he was, denying everything and backed against the lockers in the boys' locker room with Craig Tucker breathing down his neck in irritation.<p>

"Marsh, I _saw_ you looking."

"Nope, you must've been dreaming." his protest sounded feeble even to his own ears.

"You stare at my ass _every time._"

"Doesn't ring a bell."

The taller boy looked exasperated, irritated even, something that wasn't new and yet foreign on his usual careless face. Stan was sure he should just own up to it, he should've known he'd be caught with his metaphorical pants down. His heart was pounding heavily with anxiety, brow furrowed, and palms sweaty. He tried hard to make himself look confident, even genuinely confused, but it was falling short of reaching his body with the way his hand was pressed again the metal of the locker in an attempt to ground himself a little.

His nerves sparked an all time high when an idle grin slid across the swimmer's lips, braces visible for him to see. It was startling to say the least.

"Is Wendy not keeping you happy down there, Marsh?"

Oh god.

"What. You want to give me a try now?"

"You're.. you're delusional."

Craig seemed to be weighing his options, mocking him by looking thoughtful before he shrugged.

"Well, I'm not the one with everything to lose once Wendy finds out."

"There's nothing to find out!"

Well, there really wasn't until a hand was sliding down his pants, damp and chilled from the water in the high school's pool. Half an hour later and there was plenty that could be found out.

It was really unfortunate when Token walked in to check on Craig.

Word submitted by Frankiebean


	3. Kitten

Kitten

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><p>He was sure the Englishman had knocked the wind out of him as they hit the wall, skin igniting fiercely between the teeth that pressed hard into his neck. He was vaguely aware that he'd managed to shut the front door amidst being short of tackled and thankful of it, sure that he didn't want innocent passerby seeing his shirt being practically ripped over his head. A dull thump resounded as the blond's head rolled back to make contact with the wall, hands greedily sliding along every inch of skin they could find.<p>

To say they'd missed one another in their months apart was an understatement for sure.

Gary groaned softly, any defense he might have had falling away to the familiar touch being presented him. He arched into it, anticipated each and every gentle kiss and harsh suck that marred and branded his skin with bruising red. His bottom was gripped, legs lifted as Gregory wrapped his legs around his waist, his mouth busily claiming the tanner blond's.

It was any other moment, any other day that Gary might have been embarrassed by the sounds coming from his mouth or the way he was so easily bending to the other man's will but he'd missed the other man so much, waited so eagerly for the chance to see him again that his modesty was falling to pieces without a second thought. They were still clothed and yet they might as well have been naked, each touch needy, desperate as they clutched one another, the Englishman whispering word that made the Mormon's face set aflame in shame. They were each lace with a promise, guarantees that he'd be screaming soon, that they'd never be apart.

He was not about to deny any of it. They both knew.

And then amidst it all-

"Goddammit! What in bloody blazes is-!"

Gary's head knocked the wall, startled by the sudden outburst as the Englishman began to frantically look down around them. "Is that- is that a damn cat?"

The blond began laughing as the other began to hurriedly put him back on his own two feet, completely ruffled by the little mass of fur scaling his pant leg.

"Get it- _Gary stop laughing and get it off this instant_."

The russet Abyssinian looked at him innocently with wide golden eyes as he pried her sharp little claws free, his voice still choked with laughter. "I'm sorry.. it's.. it's how she greets new people."

Gregory stared at the little troublemaker in disbelief. "She.. she climbed my damn leg_. _I'm sure my trousers are ruined now."

"Aw, that means she likes you."

"Gary, I'm giving you a five second head start."

"For what?"

"To run before I bloody catch you and ruin _your_ trousers."

Word submitted by Lunchiemunchies


	4. Carnival

Carnival

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><p>Laughs rang through the air tampered with screams of both joy and fear through the metallic creak of metal and shrieks of steel. It was always the wonder of carnivals that those old death traps seemed to last as long as they did, the real thrill being that they didn't spring apart from beneath you. Personally, he didn't like the odds, the likelihood that one day he wouldn't be getting off one of those machines that shuddered and trembled beneath their patrons, but still he found himself climbing onto one with the blond who should have been much more cautious than him.<p>

If Kenny McCormick could get on the Twister with a grin, than he damn would follow even if it was with a grimace.

They were bros, the two of them, an unlikely set knocked together by an unlikely event a few years back when the blond was busy fighting with his friends and Craig was in too much of a mood for his own. It was at a place like the one they stood in now, a cheesy filthy carnival full of leering attendants and shrieking children that, in a fit of frustration, they had knocked one another to the ground. It had been stupid on their part, immature, but the need to vent, the need to show someone just how irritated and unsettled they were in that time of their lives came fast and hard in the form of fists. In the end, they had been forcefully removed from the site only to find themselves snickering at one another in the back of the police car that dragged them to their separate homes.

From then on an odd sort of bond began to develop. Whenever the two would hang out, it was hard to find the McCormick boy without his arm slung around the taller male's shoulder or Craig ruffling his hair with a rare smile or falsely disgruntled look. Whatever shenanigans the blond got into, the other was there with a camera, taping his exploits with amusement. If there ever came a time when none of their friends could be found or would get involved with a prank, as was usually Kenny's thing, or an odd project, they'd seek each other out.

And here still, they sat on one of those creaking rides of metal years later with Kenny laughing hysterically as the ride ground to a shuddering halt. They slid out of the hard plastic seat of the coaster, knocking into one another one with a chuckle and the other with a snort.

"Dude, your face was priceless."

"Oh shut up, McCormick."

A swipe and Craig's hat disappeared from his head, his own hands making a grab for it as the blond tugged it over his own hair before dodging him. He grinned, showing off his chipped tooth and careless way of smiling as he motioned to a familiar towering structure.

"How 'bout that?"

A glance brought a skeptical look on his face but Kenny was already jumping into the quickly cycling line.

"The Ferris Wheel? Really?"

"Yeah sure, why not?"

Craig could feel an eye roll coming on but stepped into the line anyway, making an effort to show the other how grudgingly he was going along with him. He was paid no mind, they both knew he didn't really mind.

A seat arrived and they clambered in, the bar placed across their legs with that same ominous suggestion that something could go wrong. The engine of the machine pumped, pulled, and turned, setting the ride in motion as they began to the slow travel up. A surprising silence was coming from Kenny who rarely shut his mouth, the blond peering over whatever side he could while Craig felt the oncoming of a nervous jitter that he would never admit to.

Of course Kenny wouldn't be scared, the boy was practically invincible it seemed.

His hands tightened on the bar silently as the other male gave the seat a little rock, his own dark eyes traveling off to stare at the expanse of land that stretched below him endlessly. Brow knit, he felt his pulse kick up just slightly with the warmth of a tanned hand fell on his, jerking him back to look at the shorter young man next to him.

"Hey man, if you don't like heights, you should have just said no."

Craig grimaced, unwilling to admit his secret paranoia about carnival rides. It made him feel too much like Tweek who thought about the things that could go wrong constantly.

Kenny's fingers curled around his hand, prying it from the bar to rest between them as he scoot closer. He held it tightly, glancing at the other curiously when there was no protest once their thighs came into contact, their shoulders next. Another glance turned into a stare that didn't last long before a set of brown eyes returned it. An understanding passed between them, a reassurance and something more that they'd always known was there.

"Hey, if the ride _does_ crash, you can kick my ass later in Hell." he joked quietly, nudging the other to break up the silent tension that had begun to settle.

Craig couldn't help the smile that crossed his features.

Word submitted by Anonymous


	5. Paddle

Paddle

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><p>It was a joke really, he hadn't really meant to do it, but they'd been teasing him so <em>much<em> lately. They were always harmless things really, simple jokes that could brushed off that could still call for retaliation should he take offense. And he did, deep down he kind of _did _take offense. It hurt to have them play on his paranoia, his nervous cautiousness.

A harmless prank, Clyde's idea and yet he'd struck the wrong male and now he had the much quieter of the other three staring him down in surprise and possible anger.

Oh man, he wished he hadn't picked up that paddle. Craig was going to punch him, he was going to get furious and punch him. It was nerve-wracking to be stared down in such a fashion and he could feel that tell tale tremor start up in his hands. Token's brow had shot up in turn, eying the strongly silent young man locked in a staring match with the terrified blond.

He wouldn't have any problem with holding his ground but-.. he'd hit the wrong person.

And not just any person, he'd hit _Craig_.

And it wasn't the worse part.

"Tweek."

"Aargh-!" He jumped at the sudden call of his name, his gray eyed gaze busily avoiding the gaze of the other male. There was a clap of sound as the paddle tumbled from his hand and to the floor, his hand shooting up to his mouth where he bit the short nub of his nail.

"You just.. spanked my ass."

_Oh my God he's going to kill me._

"I-I uh.. Y-yeah I-.. nn.. guess I did," the blond stammered out, he couldn't even suppress his old habit of stuttering nervously at this point.

There was another pause, a lengthy silence that stretched with tension. It would only be a matter of time before Clyde or Token broke it with an awkward cough or something equally cliché. Clyde hated those silences the most. But Craig didn't seemed rushed in the least to saying anything else at first, his gaze still as hard-set and calculating as before.

"Hey man-"

But Craig caught the tallest of them off, eying Clyde next. "Guys, enough with the jokes."

"What?"

"No more pranks. Let's just watch that movie you brought over already."

The two glanced between one another before they nodded and went about the business of readying for movie night, something they did now and again to entertain one another with crappy low budget horror films that even Tweek couldn't get scared of. Tweek felt his knees give away as he fell back to sit on the couch, his heart pounding with an exhale of relief.

Deep down that fear was still there, Craig's expression still carefully neutral.

The dark haired male sat next to him, the other two bustling off for popcorn and snack from Clyde's kitchen. The blond flushed, a long fingered hand ruffling his already tangled hair. He felt the warmth of body heat press against his side, the taller form of the other leaning in a deceptively casual manner. Lips brushed the lobe of his ear, innocent as they parted to speak with calm words.

"I get to use the paddle later, Tweek."

_Oh God what have I done._

Word and pairing submitted by Wendy-doesntcare

**This one in particular is to be finished and made into a real fic per request. Wendy has offered to write me something in return to appease me, haha, since I'm not usually a Creek fan or writer.**_  
><em>


	6. Morning Rainbow

Morning rainbow

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><p>The storm raged through the walls and roof with rocking persistence, the air itself charged and restless. A hand ruffled his hair, reassuring and silent as Kenny edged away from the broken window of his bedroom that howled and wept with the invasive rain. They'd pulled his mattress away from it, a precaution to keep it from getting soaked as they crammed onto the far wall that seemed to shudder with ever roll of thunder.<p>

He never really liked stormed or the threat they brought with them. Electrocution was far from his favorite way to die and, with the way the lightning was making the room flash, he could only imagine the things going on out there.

"We can still leave."

The blond glanced at the dark haired boy at his side, taller still and trapped mid-growth spurt. As always the silent male was observant, seeing his nerves despite the carefree attitude he tried putting on. It was hard to do so right then. What if the house were struck and caught on fire? He wouldn't be surprised if it happened.

Jesus Christ, he was going to turn into Tweek at this rate.

"No way, I ain't goin' out there." his answering drawl was lazy, his voice slowly being influenced by the twang of his mother's voice and his father's careless manner of speech. Kenny had only noticed the change recently, when Stan had pointed it out. He couldn't bring himself to care yet, intent on settling his speech patterns in the future.

His only response was a half chuckle before the Tucker boy crawled closer to him until their shoulders were pressed together and legs lined up. Kenny glanced at the other in surprise knowing Craig wasn't all for physical contact like he tended to be, but understood the comfort the other was trying to supply him. He latched on to him silently in turn, his body leaning as his arm slid through his and he pressed their thighs together for warmth, the air of his room cold and chilly.

For a long time, no other words passed between them, soaking in the rage of the storm that bellowed its way passed. Kenny recalled the last time he'd curled up to someone like this, had sought comfort in touch. Stan had been irritated with his behavior, telling him that they were practically teenagers now, to grow up. Kyle had been a bit more comforting about it, Cartman silent for once as the redhead tried to diffuse the situation.

It was so frightening, getting older. And of course Kenny was left with the most to worry about between the four of them. He didn't want to become his parents in the slightest though he overlooked his emerging accent. It was a habit to want to seek comfort, to touch another person. Sure he'd gotten into trouble touching others too much. Like girls.

Oh yes, the comfort of a woman was something else.

But right now, that comfort was far from his mind. There was something else here that made him feel more anchored and real. It was something only his friends could give him, despite their being male and he always and secretly enjoyed it. It made them special to him, close. After Stan's outburst, he was hesitant now.

But Craig didn't seem to care, he simply gave it to him without fuss.

And Kenny was grateful for this considering their usual conversations were full of banter and the blond ever so playfully getting on the others nerves.

Their friendship was always different from the others and he was starting to see that clearly now. Craig Tucker was different and he'd always been different in the way he analyzed things with nearly as much clarity and precision as Kyle did. He saw what was bubbling beneath his skin, what bothered and ate away at the blond through the smile he was wearing or why he was quieter than usual. In turn, Kenny ran after him, leaving him amused through pranks and listening to his movie plots. Craig could get moody, irritable, and the poor teen would let him fight it out if he needed to, entering a healthy wrestling match or two. They weren't without fights or drag outs especially considering Kenny's love for irritating him, but they didn't care. They formed a bond and neither paid it much mind as to what it meant.

And even now, the storm was finally clearing as light permeating the room slowly, and Kenny didn't feel the smallest traces of shock deep down when a pair of lips fell onto his own chapped ones full of newly teenaged awkwardness and curiosity, answers instead of questions. There was no protest or fight through this calm moment of peace as he answered the pressure, lips parting and braces nicking the skin of his bottom lip just slightly. The sting was fleeting, arms winding and holding while hands gripped at hoodies worn against the night chill.

He wouldn't be surprised if they ended up fighting over what this meant later.

Or if it simply became just another natural thing that happened between them.

Even as tongues tangled, testing and experimenting, he didn't question that Craig was a boy or that they could possibly be gay for doing this. That worry would come later at Kyle's doorstep, he imagined.

The morning light was filtering through soft and comforting as the clouds shimmied passed with slow aggression. This was their moment for now, their morning rainbow after a long night of storms to show for their troubles. And no amount of questions of puberty or awkward manhood was going to ruin it.

Word and pairing submitted by Thatboywhosavesyourday


	7. Secrets

Secrets

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><p>Her back arched off the bed, rising high off the rumpled sheets to press closer to the soft lips trailing so delicately, so fleetingly along her skin. The long slender fingers of her hand clenched and flexed gently, the full flesh of her bottom lip catching between her teeth to suppress a soft sound that could give her away, that could tell just how much she liked what was happening. Soft hands were sliding down her modest curves, caressing and stroking, curious and gentle despite their knowing touch.<p>

When had this become so real?

She wasn't sure but for it to stop was impossible now.

It was their game.

It had been a thought, a tease of a suggestion in a moment of carelessness and yet here they were, her hands tangled in blond locks as those lips slid lower. The dark-haired young lady was left speechless a moment as it dawned on her what it was happening, that familiar sensation of tickling pleasure from a wet muscle. Her body squirmed and arched, lips breathless with soft moans. The action was not new, oh no, Stan had certainly done it before. But this mouth was different, confident, knowing yet questioning.

A mouth aware of every woman's need.

"Oh.. _oh.._"

Wendy whimpered now, her brow arching and meeting as she sucked in her lip once more, reddening the skin with each tensing of her jaw. She wasn't as curvy or fully endowed as the other woman, and yet the hands touching her hips, sliding low to slid along the curve of her bottom told her she was just as lovely, bestowed confidence she didn't know she needed.

She loved Stan, she truly did, but the hands sliding around her thighs were so different, so soft yet firm that she became caught on the sensation. The valedictorian knew that Bebe couldn't do for her everything Stan could do and yet the blond was doing so much more, helping her to realize there were many things they were capable of that felt so new, so alien. Things that she could only want more of.

It was their secret, their game of quiet laughter and knowing smiles.

It had all started with a suggestion, a teasing thought that started into shy glances and curious touches that blossomed into something that felt almost natural despite the new territory.

They'd never tell, oh no. This was their comfort, their retreat.

Clyde would never know.

Stan couldn't be told.

This was _their_ secret.

Word submitted by Fightasylum


	8. Hate

Hate

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><p>All he could feel for the blond beneath him was a terrible rush of anger, a searing rage for the missionary whose mouth spoke only intelligence and gospel. His heavily calloused fingers wound in his hair, gripping hard as he yanked the handful of light strands backward. There was a responding breathlessness, a cry that came from a strained throat as his back dipped into a curve, his head trying to follow the forceful hold. All he could do was growl at the other, his teeth bared in a snarl akin to the very animals that he hated so much as his dark eyes watched the others sun tanned form tremble and rock with every forceful thrust he threw his way.<p>

It had been easy to lure the gentler male, to trap him. He wanted nothing more than to strip the other of his dignity, his innocence and morality, to squash the perfection Gary carried with him without even realizing.

And it infuriated him, that the blond could be so modest, so intelligent that his manner of speaking irritated him further by reminding him of the English blooded man he'd known for so long, had harbored as his partner, his other half until the failed mission that took him. The failed mission that confined him to this house half blinded by a bandage that obscured the wound he'd taken to his eye.

The Frenchman growled again, his voice hateful, grating with harsh insults as he leaned forward, holding the slighter blond almost possessively now.

He hated him, he _hated_ his smile and his charm that was nothing like Gregory's. Even his body was different, built lean for sports and tanned from the sun that he smelled of and all he could do was feel rage that the Mormon could go outdoors and enjoy himself while he sat stuck in a house with half his eyesight missing.

The missionary was _his_ to destroy now, to desecrate the holy meaning of his position, his mission. The blond would groan, murmur quietly as he touched him, shout loudly, shout in alarm and pleasurably pain as the mercenary fucked him and all it served to do was encourage the brunette, to drive him to be harder, rougher. He would scratch him, restrain him as he gripped his throat tightly in a show of dominance to see the alarm in Gary's face.

And yet there was never fear in those hazel eyes.

It only served to fuel his hatred further.

Christophe gripped the back of his neck roughly, nails digging in as he pushed the blond down into the floor without warning, holding him there angrily as he continued his pace. He was getting sloppy, careless in his rhythm as release neared.

Why was it the blond kept coming back to visit him?

Didn't he hate him too?

There was a startled jerk from the man below him, the spasm of muscles around him that could only signal a sudden orgasm drawing forth a guttural moan.

He wanted to tear him apart, shatter his happiness and yet-

A groan caught in his throat, an angry swear passing his lips as his body locked up pleasantly with the euphoric rush that came with release as his hold began to lessen.

Yet he didn't want the blond to stop showing, to stop looking at him with that endless amount of patience he seemed to hold.

Christophe pressed his forehead between the Momon's shoulder blades, feeling the muscles flex with each heaving breath, each shudder that rocked his spine.

He infuriated him, he hated him and yet Gary showed him nothing but soft words and affectionate smiles that made his blood burn each time his lips spoke of his religion.

"You.. you beetch.. I 'ate you."

And he knew the look Gary would give him in return, that same soft gaze that seemed to know what was tangled up within his very being, those hazel eyes that seemed to see the truth of it all, the vulnerability of his rage and the guilt of his anger.

Gary was his to destroy, to shatter and tear apart.

Only if Gary didn't destroy him first.

Word submitted by DropsofJupiterinher-hair


	9. Chocolate

Chocolate

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><p>"No way man, it's gotta be George Washington."<p>

"Whatever." Craig rolled his eyes at the other male, his brown eyes falling back onto the screen of the T.V. He stared at the battle being waged across the screen, Napoleon vs. George Washington, with interest as the weapons of their armies were taken into account, tested, gauged.

It was their weekly thing, their dedication to Deadliest Warrior.

The spoils were displayed for all to see, the wrappers colorful, pretty, as they sat innocently on the coffee table that the two had their feet propped up on. Chocolate. It was the deal, the weekly bet. Pick a warrior, pick a side and if you won the battle, the chocolate was yours.

The final battle was prepared, the reenactment running through one of the simulations the experts had run to test the caliber of both sides, the success of their weapons and battle strategies. Clyde was leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen intently, but Craig's were wandering, looking toward the shorter male with mild interest of his own.

It was curious really, that he'd made the bet he had. Craig knew who'd win, he was more academically inclined than and sometimes with better intuition. The brunette was predictable, picking the side that looked the coolest, most impressive that tended to lose in the end. It was almost endearing despite the obvious stupidity displayed in such a pattern. But he didn't mind it, didn't fight it.

For a reason he never understood... he liked it.

"Oh man! Look at that! Look at him go!"

A glance told him they were at the stand off, Washington vs. Bonaparte. His interest waned again and he continued to watch the brunette with discrete interest, a careless and bored gaze in place of the odd tight chest feeling he felt from the way Clyde was smiling. There was a reason he'd picked the losing side.

"You're going to lose." he spoke simply, a statement, a lie that no one else would see. Clyde of course made his protest, his half stammered comeback.

But then there was the result, the one he knew would come all along.

"Fuck yeeeeeeees!" he shouted, pumping his fist in the air in excitement. The brunette started to happily scoop the chocolate spoils from the coffee table eagerly, ready to devour them while Craig put on his grumpy front, shoving him lightly.

"Man you suck at this." he joked, laughing.

On the contrary, he was good at it.

But seeing the best friend he secretly loved as happy as he was eating his falsely gained reward made Craig's lie all the more worth it.

And he'd never tell.

Word request from Desuloozy


	10. Nightmares

Nightmares

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><p>His father said that they were natural when he was a child, jokingly referring to them as 'Mormon Hell dreams', assuring him he'd had them before. Of course the basis for his father's nightmares had been learning of Hell for the first time as a child and the fear of it. At first he had believed him, thinking that it couldn't be anything but natural to wake so terrified at night, drenched in the telltale layer of sweat and chills that shuddered down his spine.<p>

But then he got older, the childhood reasons fading as they waged on.

Even now he was freezing, the stabbing chill seeping into his very marrow as he clawed for the surface through the heavy weight of water that soaked his clothing and dragged him down. No.. there was something else, there was always something else, an extra weight that hindered his efforts, that he gripped in his hands. He kicked harder, panicking as his chest tighten and lungs burned for air. The water was thrashing around him, the sound of metal shrieking through the dark abyss that haunted and terrified him.

He was drowning oh god he was-

The surface broke, the frigid sting of air filling his lungs as he gasped and kicked to stay afloat. But he didn't have to, the heavy pulling pressure on his chest the telltale sensation of a life jacket that kept him in the realm of oxygen even if the water slapped him in the face now and again.

He was clutching that same weight, a body, a person, who gasped and sputtered as they clutched onto him. It wasn't always like this, there wasn't always a person with him but there was now and the face was getting clearer through saltwater stung eyes.

There was screaming.. so much screaming but no one was coming to save them.

He held onto that person, the ruffled blond who shivered together with him as arms wrapped around him. He was keeping him afloat, a belated realization that he was the only one wearing a life jacket. Hands tightened into soaked fabric as it sank in the importance of this person, the absolute fear of losing him.

This couldn't be a dream, it could never be a dream.

There were promises, distorted words. The screams were dying down, the minutes dragging and his limbs locking as he shook so violently he swore he'd never stop. He was speaking to him, the man whispering words that he couldn't remember. They were important, had to be but he knew he was shaking his head, there was no hope there never was.

And he knew something, a secret whisper lost long ago.

The lifeboats weren't coming.

The whispering was falling away and he was crying with frozen lung but the man wasn't responding any longer no matter how he begged with words he was struggling hard to speak. He tried to scream, to wake him, don't sleep, don't stop, but the air wasn't cycling in his body, the effort for naught.

He was dying, oh God, he was-

There was a searing heat, hands pressing to his face and stroking his frozen skin. Words were calling to him, murmuring his name with that familiar tone he felt warm his chest. Reality was returning, his heart pounding back to life as he lungs gasped for air. The blond strands of hair plastered to his forehead were stuck with sweat now, no longer the frigid ocean water.

"Gary."

The hands were coaxing, gentle, sweet despite their scarred burned appearance that held so much heat and memory. He held onto the feel of them, his hazel eyed gaze seeking the concerned gaze of the man above him, the English gentleman who so easily tamed his terror.

"Gregory?"

The blond smiled at him lightly, the relief evident on his usually stern face. He clutched onto the Englishman, held tightly as the chill lingered and his body rocked with shivers.

They weren't frequent as they once were, dying down with the presence of the man who stroked his soaked hair and whispered to him so softly.

The nightmare would never leave him, he knew deep down.

Nor would the words he found himself whispering into the night whether it was with dying lips or the half conscious waking from sleep.

"I'll find you again."

Word request from Anonymous


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